


be there when I feed the tree

by twistedingenue



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Awesome Darcy Lewis, Deaf Clint Barton, F/M, Hydra (Marvel), Marvel 616/MCU Crossover, Marvel Universe Big Bang 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 19:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2592920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedingenue/pseuds/twistedingenue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy didn’t know when she started school that she wanted to be on the cutting edge of the universe. And if she had, she probably would have imagined it with less paperwork.</p>
            </blockquote>





	be there when I feed the tree

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to a whole retinue of people who read the first half of the story and let me know that I was on the right track. To [fireun](http://fireun.tumblr.com), my most excellent beta, who wrangles my commas and unwinds my awkward phrasing. Any remaining errors are my own.
> 
> [puffabilly](http://puffabilly.tumblr.com) did the artwork, [which is located here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2592539), despite falling into a hole known as a busy work schedule and commute. 
> 
> I'm so lucky to have the support of so many wonderful people.
> 
> You can always find me at [my tumblr](http://twistedingenue.tumblr.com)

Darcy’s parents have never really been pleased about Darcy’s direction in life. They approved of Culver University, and her father cashed in his allotment of the vacation days he never used anyway, and paid for the private school happily. She went in as an undeclared major, and they weren’t really upset by that, but it was when her general education courses didn’t give way and she didn’t major in something like Marketing that the commentary started.

“You know, you could major in something like International Business, it’s kind of like political science,” her mom coaxed over the phone, “What with all the negotiating and the people you’d meet. I mean, I don’t mind, but you know your father…” and it didn’t really stop after that. Darcy didn’t understand why they kept asking what courses she was taking if they were just going to ask how they would be useful to her future career. About her sophomore year, her father got it in his head that maybe this meant Darcy would be a lawyer. That she’d represent the family by being a professional.

Okay, it was a cheap thrill, but when she told them she was really loving her Urban Politics in Developing Countries class she took a great deal of joy from their reactions. Her father asked how that would help her get into law school, and Darcy knit her brows together in mock confusion and said, “Law school? Why would I want to go to law school?” Dad didn’t speak to her for a month. It was pretty great.

Then she applied for Doctor Foster’s internship because her advisor sucked and conveniently forgot about her science requirement, and how Darcy needed eight hours, not two, and Darcy’s world expanded further than she ever imagined possible. Also, she saved some dogs from a metal monster, and that was pretty cool. So she stuck around Jane long after the internship had run it’s official course.

Her parents expected her to find a job when she graduated, and to be fair, it’s not like Darcy didn’t look. But she ran into problems every time she got close to being hired — she got real tired of getting the call apologetically explaining they just could not hire her. And really, most of her friends were in unpaid internships. At least with Jane she liked her boss. Jane kept her fed and under a roof most of the time, and she had a lot of freedom and Darcy found that she really liked science. She didn’t understand in the same way that Jane or even Ian did, but she enjoyed it, loved how they worked on problems no one else even thought about.

Darcy didn’t know when she started school that she wanted to be on the cutting edge of the universe. And if she had, she probably would have imagined it with less paperwork.

Since Thor had come back (and they saved the universe, thank you Jane), they had stuck around in London for a little while until Ian had found them some new digs. In like, Iowa, but they were new digs and clear skies, and Thor stopped causing international incidents and intermittent flooding in Europe.

So yeah, there they were in Iowa. Darcy’s getting laid on the regular, without very many strings. There’s strings because Ian is a coworker. She stopped calling him an intern roughly two weeks after they had their “Hey Not Dead” sex, because while she’s sometimes rather dense about ethics, she’s not going to be the person screwing the intern.

Also, he’s way better at the science thing than Darcy. She’s way better at the organizational, grant-writing, information sorting, grocery-run shit than anyone else in their little coterie, and Darcy prefers it that way, and that keeps her busy when she’s not needed to run experiments.

So it’s a Thursday, two days from when Darcy is going to remind Jane and Erik that the weekend exists, and that they are to do their own damn laundry, and give her money so she can keep the place stocked with the sticks and twigs cereal that Jane likes, and it just feels like a Thursday. They are always slow, because Friday is like, right there just waiting, but in reality you still have full days ahead of you. Darcy doesn’t have a traditional work week, they don’t deal in 9 to 5 here at the Casa De Astrophysica. Somedays she has an hours worth of work and then naps until it is time to load up the van and head out to where only the only life around them is corn, and some days she looks at her phone and realizes it’s been 36 hours and she has, like, a dozen unanswered texts.

But today feels like something in-between, where they’ll put in a solid day’s work and sleep the sleep of the intellectually exhausted. Thor is out being Thor. He’s with them most of the time, but there are days and weeks where he gets restless and wants to explore, physically, the world he has adopted as his own. It’s been centuries since the last time he really spent time on Midgard, and he wants to experience it anew.

“When I was young, my father would take me out amongst the people of this realm in disguise, so that they would not offer us hospitality because of our rank, but because we were travelers. I wish to do so again, if only in honor of long-held memory.” Thor had said before this last trip. In his jeans and t-shirt he doesn’t look quite so much like a god, just an exceptionally hot man with a ponytail.

“I hope you find people still as willing to open their hearts to you,” Jane mused, kissing his forehead, “I think you’ll find that the credit card Stark gave you will open many more doors than just your good nature.”

“Particularly doors to hotel rooms,” Darcy muttered, and Ian had laughed with her. He has such a nice laugh, just exasperated enough that she knows her humor is appreciated. Ian had helped her plan Thor's next excursion, or at least the first part of it. He’s in Europe now, with all of the correct documentation that puts him more at a Youth Hostel rather than Stark’s resort suite in Monaco. Thor will be back when he gets back, and he calls every couple of nights to chat and make Jane grin, blush, and eventually run off to her room.

It’s a quiet morning. Darcy’s been working in the front room, since it’s not a day where she’s really needed in the lab space, not yet. After lunch, she’ll check back in. Right now though, she’s working through the budget. They got some money from SHIELD in exchange for working with some of their data, and because Darcy is tightfisted, they still have some of that dirty money. But they also have some grants from various institutions and academia, and that’s what pays for Darcy. She is very good with making sure the deadlines are met, because she doesn’t want to lose what little hold on life she has here. And they get a little from Stark, who says it’s so he can have a little hold on Jane and Jane’s brain, but Darcy’s pretty sure that Thor has more to do with it. Darcy’s halfway through her spreadsheet before she realizes that it’s a little too quiet today, that Ian hasn’t come in chattering away and running his fingers across her shoulder as he passes through to the lab.

“Have either of you seen Ian this morning?” Darcy says as she sweeps through the lab, placing coffee next to both Jane and Erik’s workstations.

Jane is still sluggish, even though it’s well into the late morning, and Darcy is thinking about taking lunch orders. But sleepless nights happen for Jane, so maybe she slept slumped over her laptop again, curling her fingers around the power cord and her cheek against the warm keyboard. Jane drinks the coffee, blinking her eyes against sleep and actually thanks Darcy before realizing what question Darcy asked, “No, I haven’t. Was there a thing we sent him to do?”

Darcy doesn’t think that Ian had a thing. But she could be wrong. “Maybe he said he’d be in after lunch. You guys set in here?”

Erik looks about three-quarters of the way asleep. His life is stressful, and this is not a wholly unusual occurrence for him. Darcy bites her lip, shifting her weight from side to side. There’s something off about both of them being this quiet and tired at this time of day when no one went out to collect data in the middle of the night. It’s just a gut feeling, a twist of unease flitting about in her stomach. No one answers her, both engrossed in their computers again.

“Maybe, yeah….” Jane answers, slow and without even a glance . So okay, they are just both in full science trance. Her unease is just her own. Maybe Darcy just needs to eat something. Like a cupcake.

Lunch passes. Darcy’s knee-deep in invoices, so she just sets a couple of sandwiches inside the lab and yells at them to eat. They hardly rouse from their computers. Freaky, but okay. When it gets about four in the afternoon and neither of them have come out to even so much as use the bathroom and Ian has not show shown up, Darcy shuts her laptop.

That sense of unease grows when something just smells off, smells like a trash heap a mile away. It’s just there in the distance. A gas leak then. They can rent a hotel room for the night and get someone in tomorrow. She opens the door to the lab, and she groans because otherwise, she’d have to panic. And what use is panicking when you are going to have to carry two scientists out the door. Jane is completely slumped at her laptop, her hair spread out over the keys and moving slightly with the air circulation. Erik apparently had tried to get up, and has fallen half on his chair. He’s moving though, his fingers slowly curling around the armrest.

“At least you are wearing pants.” Darcy says, “Okay Erik, you first. You’re heavier.” She should call 911, but something is still striking her as odd. If there was a gas leak, shouldn’t she be affected too? The air conditioner is for the whole building, not just the lab. They don’t work with chemicals, so it couldn’t have been an experiment gone wrong. The lab even smells nice - Ian bought a air freshener yesterday, complaining the lab smelled of stale sweat and Cheetos.

The percussive force from the other room knocks her over and she throws all plans to call the police out the window. Instead she runs. She runs to the door that was swung wide open and shuts it quick, and doesn’t try to look past the choking thick dust and dirt cloud just past it.. It’s not going to do much, but it’ll do something. Slow down anyone trying to get in for like, half a second at least. Unless they use guns, in which case they are all screwed.

Of all the days for Thor to not be here.

"Erik, can you stand?" Stupid question, scratch that. "Erik, can you run?" Darcy asks, breathing furiously, trying to decide what she needs to grab besides Jane. She sweeps up a bag hanging from a hook on the wall, and fills it: laptop, car keys, flash drives. Her cell phone is permaglued to her back pocket, so she doesn’t have to worry about that.

The door isn't hot, which means either there is no fire or it just hasn't really gotten going yet. And if it's the latter, she's not going to risk her hopes on the former. There's no way Darcy is going to try to run her way through there, not if she has to guide an stumbling Selvig and a comatose Jane.

There is a floor to ceiling window at the far side of the lab, and one of the cars is parked only a little out of the way. Slinging the bag over her shoulder, she opens a cabinet to pull out the fire extinguisher. It’s heavier than she expected, but that’s a good thing considering what she’s planning on using it for. She hefts it up as she takes long, quick steps to the window, closes her eyes and swings the extinguisher like a baseball bat into the glass.

If they had rented a newer place, it never would have worked. The glass would have been security glass and more resistant. But they were budget conscious, and it’s working in their favor for once. She clears the worst of the shattered glass with the extinguisher.

Trying to lift Jane is a problem. Darcy’s just not that strong. Dragging Jane is just going to lead to horrible cuts and gashes from broken glass. Erik has about enough strength and conscious ability to keep himself upright at an stagger, and he might just be able to make it to the car. Jane’s not a big girl by any stretch — hell, she’s not even a medium sized woman, she’s snack-sized — but Darcy’s never lifted anything heavier than a bag of rock salt. She keeps trying to pull Jane off of the chair, and she’s sure there’s a way to do this, some professional way, but her mind is really only focused on the incessant need to get out before something bad happens.

The chair rolls out underneath Jane during one of her attempts and Darcy realizes that panicked brain is not a logical brain. “Rolling chair.” Darcy mutters, and transfers Jane back onto the chair without a single grain of grace. “Let’s get out of here,” and then figure out what to do, “Come on Selvig, I need you to hurry.” She tries not to look back, trusting that the man was behind her. She pushes Jane out the window, holding onto the seat, Jane’s forehead on her shoulder.

It gets easier once they are outside. She doesn’t see anyone around the building. Like that means anything. Anyone can hide. Having the chair on wheels helps her to move faster and she almost skims over the top of the pavement, turning the corner wide, and she can see the front of the lab is just gone. Not on fire, just billowing dust and emptiness where Darcy had been sitting just a few minutes ago.

“That is fucked up,” she mutters, pulling the door to the pinzgauer open and finding the strength to more or less throw Jane into the back.

Erik is still coming around the corner, and Darcy makes the calculated risk to go back for him. He’s slowed down to gape at the the remnants of the office. She has wrap her arm around his waist to steady him, and his matches his gait to hers. His body, for all that it’s pressed against hers, feels distant and gone.

The pinz may be street legal, and it may be tough and strong, but it's going to conspicuous, Darcy realizes. She's not even going to entertain the idea that this was something perfectly rational, an accident, a random incident that tends to happen when you get a couple of geniuses together. No, Darcy expects thugs and guns any second.

It's almost painful that this is the world she lives in now. Worse yet, she's choosing to live in this world. She could be in law school, her fathers voice says, and then you wouldn't be in this mess.

She expects someone to be following her, to trap her in traffic, but it’s relatively smooth driving. And she knows the back roads from having to find every grocery store and shop at any hour. She’d had to go several towns over just to find anything open that met Jane’s very particular requirements for yogurt. Darcy speeds along them now, and over the fields that stretch alongside every road she can see more than the usual amount of black SUVs and hopes that no one finds a pinzgauer on country roads all that unusual.

Her heart finally drops into a normal rhythm as she turns into the I-80 truck stop, and she picks up her phone as she’s filling up the gas. She sends a quick text off to Ian, don’t bother coming in to work tomorrow. Stay low and stay safe.

The half-formed plan in her mind was to get to O’Hare, the nearest airport of any consequence, but it strikes her that this is a stupid plan. Her head drops against the van. Erik’s drifted in and out of consciousness, Jane still hasn’t woken up, but she seems to be sleeping now. She makes little jerks whimpers. Darcy wonders if whatever gassed them hurts, if they are supposed to be like this. She could take them to a hospital, but the circumstances are such that it’ll be all on the evening news and every newspaper and that’s going to attract attention she can’t handle on her own.

But she can’t do the airport either. They have no ID. Darcy doesn’t even have her driver’s license on her, which is going to suck if she gets pulled over. Darcy has $50 hidden inside of her cell phone case, but other than that, they have no money, not even a credit card. Darcy has her cellphone and Jane’s laptop, full of priceless data and that’s about it. She doesn’t even have a cord to charge her phone and she spent a lot of time playing Candy Crush this afternoon.

Whatever she does, she’s got to depend on her own contacts. Which includes one very large, very protective man, at least, and she could kick herself for not thinking of Thor sooner. He might be half a world away but he’s a man of action and can help her figure out what to do.

“Thor,” she says into her phone, voice shaky and it betrays her instantly. Thor’s little intake of air whistles in her ear, “There’s been a … a situation at the lab. We need help, and I don’t know what to do and I think Jane’s been poisoned and Erik isn't doing much better and I don’t know where Ian is and we’re at that truck stop that has the salad bar you really liked and I’m —“

“Rest easy, Darcy,” Thor says, and she hold onto his steady voice like a fucking anchor, “I believe I can get you safe.”

She’s crying by the time the helicopter lands, all the stress and worry trying to worm its way out through her tear ducts and its not working. She doesn’t feel better, but she doesn’t feel worse either, so it’s okay. She’s okay, and she’s going to New York. They’ll meet Thor there, and someone on the jet will take care of Jane and Erik and Darcy doesn’t have to be in charge anymore.

“You did well,” Thor said to her, staying on the line until the helicopter landed, “You should be proud of yourself, you had no one to help you and everyone is alive and soon to be safe.” It’s more than her father has ever said to her, and it means more anyways.

* * *

Jane wakes up on the jet on the ride to New York. She blinks a few times and knits her eyebrows together as her eyes start to brighten and focus from the terrifying blank expression of just a few minutes ago. They dart back and forth as she takes in her surroundings in confusion. Stark’s jet is plusher than most hotel rooms, and certainly more than any that Jane and Darcy have ever booked. Jane’s on a snowy white couch and Darcy is in the nearest chair, with enough legroom to house a small country. Jane lifts her arm, disrupting the IV that an honest to god doctor that flew with the plane to meet them had placed, and stares at the line.

“Don’t try to move too much, Jane,” Darcy says, “You’ll wake Erik.” Erik shook off most of the effects of the drug already, which calmed Darcy down significantly. Her heart stopped trying to fling itself out of her body around that point.

“Where?” Jane mouths, like there’s not enough air getting through her vocal cords, which might actually be true. Erik hadn’t been able to really to talk much before he fell asleep. There seems to have been a paralytic in the gas, “How?” she says with a little, shaky voice.

“We are on a StarkJet, on our way to New York because someone pulled a real whammy on us. The three of us are safe, I don’t know where Ian is, but I’m going to assume he’s okay and that he chose a good day to not come into work.” Darcy explains, trying not to look Jane too hard in the eyes, because she’s really freaked out and she can keep it out of her voice, but not out of her eyes right now. She totally has crazy panic eyes. “Thor is going to meet us at Stark Tower. Or Avenger Tower, depending on what Tony Stark is calling it today.”

That’s step one. Step one is safety. Darcy doesn’t even feel all that at ease in the jet, for all it’s comforts and joys. She’ll feel safe when Thor is within eyesight with a big freaking hammer and the cape. Why the cape makes her feel better, Darcy doesn’t even begin to know. It’s a giant blanket of comfort wrapped around a giant protector.

Darcy thinks Jane says, “I think I’m going to sleep some more,” but what she hears is pretty much just “ my sleep mo” and that’s just fine. Even brings a contented smile to her face and she relaxes just a few bits more. Jane will be okay. They will see Thor and then she doesn’t have to be in charge of keeping them alive anymore.

The trip feels long, but she’s surprised when they land that it’s only just past sunset, and it’s in the early evening twilight that they are transferred from the plane to a car with dark tinted windows. Like they are important celebrities. Inside the car is a woman that introduces herself as a Stark Security Consultant, Maria Hill. Darcy’s heard that name before, and it hasn’t been with Stark Industries, but SHIELD. And she’s very obviously packing some serious heat, and of all things, it’s firepower that comforts Darcy, coupled with someone who knows how to use it.

“We’ve got boots on the ground checking out your lab, but we aren’t finding much. You were very lucky Darcy. The labs themselves are standing, but most of the rest of the building is a pancake.” Hill says, looking over a tablet, but slaps her hand down on the seat in the universal signal for being squashed, “We are going to need to ask you a few questions about the last few days.”

Darcy whimpers. It’s not a dignified sound - it’s desperation and want. She wants the bottom of all this to drop so that she can be over it. She has spent so much of the past few years fiercely competent, proud of herself even though what she has caused her parents expectations of herself to lower. But every so often, she spends hours, days, on the razor’s edge of that competence, struggling to stay afloat and honing her skills at keeping everyone alive. Thor’s words stay with her, that she did good.

“You can sleep first,” Hill offers, “If you’d like, so you have a clear head. Or we can get it over with so that it’s just done.”

Darcy wipes her eyes and smooths her hair with her hand, “I want to be done.”

The conversation takes place in the car, in the elevator, and in a small conference room. Jane and Erik don’t have much to add, just that they were working and then the world got slow and they could hardly move. They are excused from the debrief by the time they get to Stark Tower, and have yet another doctor to look at them. Darcy goes a lot longer. Anything strange come into the lab in the past few days - no, Darcy and Ian bought everything. What was the explosion like - less of a bang, more like a boom.

Darcy’s about to pass out where she sits when Hill asks, “Who have you contacted since yesterday?”

“Thor,” Darcy says and absently adds, “And I sent Ian a text.”

“And when did you last see him?” Hill looks intensely thoughtful, “Did he respond?”

“Yesterday. He bought an air freshener and then headed out for the night. He didn’t come in today, but that happens every so often. We don’t have traditional weekends or anything.” Darcy checks her phone while she answers. Ian has always responded to her texts quickly, “Well, huh, no he hasn’t.”

“Did you send him that text before or after the incident?”

“After,” when Maria’s lips thin into a narrow line, the implication is obvious, “You don’t think Ian has anything to do with this, do you?”

“I’m not ruling him out Darcy, it just looks really suspicious that he plants something that dissipates a fragrance in the air, and then doesn’t show for work and it implodes.” Hill taps her fingers, “How close were you to him?”

Darcy slinks in her chair, “Somewhere on the line between inappropriate office romance and booty calls?” she admits, her chin to her chest and her shoulders up at her ears, “Oh god, I’ve been sleeping with the enemy!”

Hill at least has the decency to look sympathetic and tell Darcy to get some sleep.

They’ve got a suite in the tower. Actually, they have Thor’s suite and there’s a flurry of activity when he arrives in the middle of the night. There’s a lot of hugging, a lot of half-sobbing, and most of that is Darcy. For all of the danger they have put themselves in over the past few years, most of it has arrived at their door in intergalactic packaging, not humans. Not directly threatening them as individuals. This is a new experience. But eventually, sleep takes them all, and Darcy passes out again after seeing Jane tucked safely in Thor’s very capable arms, and Erik’s worry lines fading into sleep.

She wakes up sporadically, evaluates whether or not it’s worth getting out of the most comfortable bed she’s ever been in, and it’s ten hours later that hunger wins out. The kitchen is pretty well stocked in the way of snack and quick fixes, and she makes herself a sandwich and twiddles her thumbs waiting for something to happen. Yesterday, she wanted everything to end and she just wants things to start.

Darcy’s never been much of one for staying idle and alone, and Thor had mentioned that there’s a lounge that, at the very least, has the potential for other people. JARVIS, after Darcy blinks a few times and just thinks about Stark and his need for complication, helps her find her way. She found some spare clothes in a dresser about her size, but they are still big and a little sloppy, which is perfectly fine. She was just nearly killed, she deserves some sweatpants.

She feels lucky that it’s not empty, and that she has at least met the occupant, trying to balance a bowl of popcorn on his head. Clint’s attention is on the bowl, not on the muted television, stuck on CNN reporting on the latest and not so greatest news clips. It seems to be talking heads time, and it’s not like CNN is stellar news reporting to begin with, and with the ticker stuck on celebrity news? Darcy can understand the mute.

“Thug,” she says in greeting, snagging a handful of the popcorn. They met in New Mexico, when she drove Selvig out to the Pegasus installation. Jane had declined to be part of that project, thank goodness, as she was still focused on studying the bridge, but the installation was close enough that Darcy drafted herself to drive out. Barton had checked her clearances and kept her away from anything top secret.

“Lewis,” he answers, his fingers stilling the bowl as it wavers from her reach, “Good to see you in one piece.”

“Was that supposed to be a joke?”

“Was it funny?” Clint asks back.

“No,” Darcy reaches for the popcorn again, but this time, Clint’s faster and settles the bowl in his lap.

“Then it was a statement of goodwill.” Clint circles a hand, gesturing in a noncommittal way that she should join him, and he hands Darcy the remote.

Darcy has never once in her life accepted the words “companionable silence” as anything but a challenge, and after sifting through a few pages of channel listings, says “Why is there never anything you actually want to watch?”

“Stark gets about a thousand channels, and mostly all I find is the news and reruns of I Love Lucy. I could have gotten that changing the dial when I was six.”

“Hitting the plus button to find M*A*S*H and Telemundo.” Darcy settles on a station, “I think it’s reruns of Seinfeld these days.”

Jerry says something funny, Elaine something insufferable, and overall everyone’s a shithead. Darcy doesn’t actually like Seinfeld. It’s supposed to be a classic, but mostly it fills her with a quiet rage because she likes her comedy likable. She doesn’t want to root for a series of funny moments - she likes people, and even idiots learn occasionally. Darcy, for example, is going to vet her boyfriends a little more thoroughly. No more picking up interns from unsolicited emails.

“Hill’s pretty sure the guy I was sleeping with is HYDRA and put the whole trying to kill us thing in motion,” It sounds so ridiculous when she says it out loud and she buries her head in her hands, doubling over as she starts to laugh. It’s nothing at first, a snort and a giggle, but it slowly becomes unrestrained.

Clint picks up on her laughter, grinning when he says, “Darcy, this means nothing to you, but I promise I have made worse mistakes with my dick.” That makes her feel a tiny bit better, but it also sends her into another peal of laughter. Clint has a hyena’s giggle that lightens up his entire body.

The television isn’t nearly as interesting as Clint’s commentary. He’s in the middle of explaining how at least Seinfeld is better than Everybody Loves Raymond if you have to watch syndicated comedies, when he gives a little wince and touches his ear, shaking his head. “Fuck it if they can’t get the batteries to last on these things,” he mutters and reaches out and turns Darcy’s head with a light touch of his fingers. “Look at me when you talk, okay? And can you turn on the closed captioning?”

Darcy’s confused for a second, first because his fingers are really warm and it’s the first bit of contact she’s had that wasn’t immediately about survival or comfort since yesterday. It’s because she doesn’t get why he’s asking, but she obliges.

“Thanks,” Clint says, a little louder than before and he taps at his ear, “The volume control on this side is acting up, something keeps shorting out and — you don’t care,” he smiles, “but I’m comfortable and don’t want to go put in my spares.”

Oh, deaf. Okay, that explains a few things. Darcy shrugs and attacks the popcorn bowl. She’s pretty comfortable here too, beside Clint and where she finally feels safe.

* * *

It takes another day or so for Hill to come back to them, and Darcy feels just this side of useless. Jane spends a little more time with Thor because for the first time he’s right there and staying there when the bad shit happens, and Selvig was invited to spend his day researching. It leaves Darcy in a lurch, because her bread and butter was taking care of those two, smoothing out the days edges. It doesn’t take as long as she thought it would to cancel her credit card, and order new documentation. With the right amount of money and the right names to drop, there aren’t delays, and she has plenty of that to go around at the moment.

When she arrives, Hill meets with them in a conference room, and Darcy spins her chair while the last of the participants wander in - Jane and Thor both hand in hand and looking very serious, Selvig looking well-rested for once, Clint and a redhead Darcy recognizes as Natasha. Stark strolls in about three minutes after everyone else, an occurrence Hill seems to account for, because the first three minutes are light information, confirming that Jane is in good health and that there shouldn’t be any lasting effects.

“It appears that the gas was targeted to affect Jane more than Selvig,” Hill explains, eying Stark and willing him to stay quiet as he makes his way around to the back of the room by the longest way possible, “If it had been more potent and able to completely debilitate Doctor Selvig, it would have run the risk of killing Doctor Foster.”

“And HYDRA really doesn’t want that,” From every dealing she’s had with Stark, he’s held himself back from interrupting so far, and he made it almost five entire minutes. It might be a new record.

“No they don’t, not when it comes to Doctor Foster at least,” Hill lifts her eyebrows and straight up murderstares at Stark. It’s effective, and while he doesn’t stop moving, he does stop interrupting, “Do you have the intercepted communications, Stark?”

“That I do.” Stark shakes his head a couple of times, looking over his shoulder, “JARVIS, display file fuck, marry, kill.” Hill rolls her eyes at Tony’s creative filenames, Clint stifles that giggle of his, and Jane tells Thor she’ll explain later. Darcy’s eyes widen at the way the wall shimmers to display the projected information. It’s nothing like the whiteboards they fill their labspaces with. It’s even better than smart boards and Darcy always thought those were pretty damn cool.

Natasha continues where Hill left off, “Two days before the attack on your lab, we found messages that frankly, confused us. Now, we understand it to be Thor’s travel itinerary coupled with a code stating to proceed with the mission and how the three of you were to be apprehended. Doctor Foster was the primary target —“

“HYDRA’s Marry choice,” Tony interjects.

“Doctor Selvig was to be taken in alive if possible, but if the gas let him escape, then he was to be eliminated as soon as possible.”

“Fuck.”

“And Darcy —“

“Kill,” Darcy says before Tony could, “I’m not much of use to HYDRA, am I?” Just a loose end to tie off, a stone turned over and then smashed into the ground.

“Darcy,” Jane starts thinking that this is something that Darcy needs to be comforted about.

“No, look, it’s okay. I know what I am,” she’s not a genius, she’s not a brave assassin, she’s a good organizer and quick thinker, but she’s not out of the realm of the ordinary, “and what I am is fantastic, but it’s not the same as anyone else here.”

When Darcy was a kid, she’d get lost in the fantasy of having secrets, of something hidden from the rest of the world. It could be known to just a few and she’d be able to look at everyone else and they’d never know that ordinary Darcy, with the big hair and big lips and big voice was something special. But Darcy is part of the world of secrets now, and people still just see the hair, the lips (and now the big tits), and she’s not even all that special for being part of it.

Now, she thinks she’s special because she chooses to be part of it, even though the world of secrets may kill her. Jane’s lips are a thin line and her eye go wide with sorrow and guilt.

Natasha’s voice comes confidently through the stillness between Jane and Darcy, “That is not all. Since their failed attempt — it seems that their explosive device detonated too early, so they were not in place, which allowed Darcy to get everyone to safety — there have been more communications detailing their intent and plans to obtain access to Doctors Foster and Selvig.”

“Then it is settled, I will be taking Jane to Asgard with me, and entreat my father for her safety for a time,” Thor says ostensibly to the room at large, but Darcy’s heard enough of his sweeping statements to know that he means it for Jane’s ears only, to put an end to a private argument. Thor is a good man, but he does know how to get what he wants and how to bypass Jane’s innate stubbornness and refusal to walk away from rough living. “I wish I could take you all,” he continues, “But I do not wish to impede upon my father’s goodwill more than he can handle.”

“That helps us quite a bit actually,” Tony continues, “Because I was just about to insist that we break up the band and embrace the cliche. All of their plans so far hinge on you three being together and using your routines against you. Therefore, split you apart, get you away from your gamespace, and we can throw them off balance. Natasha’s going to be taking point on breaking apart the cell that’s responsible for your demise, and oh! Dibs on Selvig. Have I got a working space for you, there are some things about that machine you built that I really have been dying to know.”

Typical. “So where does that leave me? You want me to go home to my parents and lie low or something?” Darcy scoffs, because while her relationship with her parents isn’t the worst, nor is it the best, and spending months with them sounds like a recipe for disownment.

Clint clears his throat, “Wanna go to LA?”

He’s not sitting near her, but the words feel like the wisp of his fingers on her skin, directing her attention, “Excuse me?”

“I got a friend out there who needs checking up on,” he mutters, “And she’s somehow convinced a few stranded ex-SHIELD agents to to do her bidding, which is impressive for a twelve-year old. So someone’s got to go rein in the minor Hawkeye.”

“So you might as well go along with to rein in this Hawkeye,” Natasha says with serene smile.

* * *

Within twenty-four hours Darcy has clothes, toiletries, a new cell phone and strict orders to not use it in such a way that means someone could track her, which means she doesn’t really have a cell phone at all. It’s a good thing she doesn’t talk much to her family, otherwise she might have to worry about them calling in the national guard or something to look for her. In another twenty-four hours, she’s on yet another Stark Jet, Clint Barton snoozing on the seats across the aisle, with his hearing aids out.

Over the last day, she’s learning that this is Barton’s preferred way of life. He sleeps. He rests. He takes out his aids so he doesn’t have to hear what’s going on around him, and probably because even the best of them are uncomfortable and don’t distinguish between ambient and direct noise very well. It’s the one piece of advice that Natasha gives her as Darcy packs up a small bag to take with her. That Clint is stubborn and doesn’t like to admit he needs the aids, and will go as long as he can without them.

“I think you vastly overestimate my nagging abilities if you expect me to make him wear them,” Darcy said, rolling her eyes. Hey mom, look at me - I’m rolling my eyes at the Black Widow. I’ve moved up in the world.

“I think you underestimate your ability to steamroll people into taking care of themselves,” Natasha carefully doesn’t give anything away with a facial expression, and Darcy realizes just how much is underneath the surface. She must care for Clint if she is bothering to come to Darcy just to make sure she’s aware of a single foible of Barton’s. Darcy’s met Barton, and it’s evident in like, five seconds, that Clint’s got a lot of foibles. “He doesn’t like to wear them and he doesn’t lip-read as well as he claims to.”

The one thing Darcy doesn’t have a whole lot of right now, is shit to do. Her fingers twitch for work or netflix or something to sort through so that she doesn’t have time to sit in the quiet and think about how she should be dead right now. How Jane’s been whisked away to be protected through a wormhole and Erik is being cared for better than Darcy could have provided.

Darcy brought in Ian. Darcy brought the wolf to their door, because he was a little cute and talked about Jane and her work the same way that Darcy thought about Jane. So important that the moon and the stars should rearrange themselves for her ease of study. Darcy had wanted so much to find something that would bring Jane out of her slump, and frustration and thought that maybe another similar soul, someone that could speak her language would kickstart her research again.

It did, in the end. Ian was good for Jane once things settled down. He was bright and eager to share, and seemed to get Jane’s brilliance better than anyone else. He wormed and charmed and shared Darcy’s bed. Darcy pulls her knees to her chest, curling into the planes plush seats, and rests her head against her knees. She’s got nothing to do but think, or watch Clint sleep.

She watches him sleep.

In sleep he looks soothed and smoothed out, like a great cat finally at rest, but underneath he’s still ready to spring up and leap. It’s got to be an uncomfortable way to live, watching your back and looking ahead at the same time. Darcy’s only been doing it for a few days now, and she’s exhausted by the paranoia. She closes her own eyes and lets the exhaustion run it’s course. Sleep is one of the few things she’s always primed and ready for.

She wakes up to a hand on her shoulder and Clint smiling at her, and that’s not a horrible way to wake up at all.

“We landed like a half hour ago, you done with your beauty sleep yet?” Clint asks, amused and trying to hold back a bigger grin.

“I don’t know,” Darcy answers through half open eyes, “Does it look like I need more?”

“I’m pretty sure that there is no good way to answer that question, so I’m not even going to try,” Clint holds out a hand to help her up, “Kate’s waiting for us outside.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up earlier then?” She hates keeping people waiting, it’s right up there with being late, and not bringing a proper hostess gift of whatever six-pack she had lying around. It’s tacky.

“Kate needs a few lessons in patience. Who better to provide a lesson than her namesake.” His smile turns beatific, like he’s doing the girl a favor by being an asshole.

Darcy gathers up her bag from underneath her seat — she couldn’t trust it in the hold— and asks Clint, “So she goes by Hawkeye too? How does that work?”

“Far easier than you’d expect. We get by a lot on context.” Clint shrugs and leads her off the plane, “She picked up the name after I kind of fell off the map after New York. Had a group of friends that went around and stood up for justice and she made a name for herself. If the Hawkeye name can stand for the runts of the world doing good because they can, I will share it with thousands.” He walks her down the stairs leading towards the ground and the private airstrip. Waiting there in a bright purple coat must be Kate, with long black hair and oversized sunglasses and a vaguely petulant expression. “Just don’t tell her that - that’s a little mushy for us.”

Darcy snorts, can’t help it, Clint opening up and speaking to her is a weakness that she does not need to investigate further, “I’ll try to keep that information to myself.”

“Finally,” Kate yells, “Do you know how long I have been waiting here? Hours. You could have given me a heads up that you were delayed.”

“Was I supposed to call you from the plane? Kate, they have those rules for a reason,” Clint fakes a gasp of shock, “You wouldn’t want me to break the rules, would you?”

“Whatever,” Kate turns her attention to Darcy, taking off her sunglasses. She is startlingly young. Younger than Darcy, and that’s a feat in the superhero business. But Kate has an air of confidence around her that invites Darcy to be excited to be around her, and that’s a different sort of feat. “I’m Kate, sorry you got dragged all the way out here with the laugh riot there.”

Kate is house-sitting, she explains, which is why they roll up to an honest to goodness mansion. Kate comes from old money divesting into new technology, with Bishop Publishing coming up with the next best alternative to Amazon these days. “New York was just so over,” She explains.

“She means her father cut her off for a year,” Clint interrupts with a sarcastically sweet smile, teasing out a little twitch of Kate’s nose.

“There is also that,” she brightens, “But I had a friend who was going to Europe for a while and is paying me to watch her place and then I found these SHIELD agents who were keeping an eye on me while SHIELD was busy burning to the ground. They are not helpful.”

“Kate, they were on their first assignment and their handler turned out to be HYDRA, you’d be a little lost too.”

“I am not denying that, but you’d think they’d at least know how to do their own laundry.”

Darcy has the suspicion that Kate is only about a half step ahead of the baby agents, but she keeps that to herself. She wants to be on Kate’s good side if they are going to be living together for the foreseeable future.

“Which part were they having problems with?” Darcy asks.

“Admittingly, the cylons disguised as a washer and dryer set are a little confusing, but Sofie shrunk her uniform. I had to locate a military surplus store so she could have pants.”

Clint had been restless in his seat and tapping his fingers on the armrest, on the seatbelt, and on his knee, and now that he’s at this mansion, he cannot contain himself any longer.

"Well?" He says to Kate, arms crossed and with an old argument in his voice, "Where is he?"

There's three agents walking into the entryway and Clint isn't referring to any of them. He looks past them to the hallway.

Kate rolls her eyes with long-suffering gusto, which Darcy is quickly learning is her default expression with Clint. "Oh yes, that." She puts two fingers to her mouth and whistles, the trio of agents wincing at the piercing noise, and then she bellows, "Lucky!"

At first there's nothing, and then there's a scattering of nails on floor and there's a yellow lab running through the hall, picking up speed the moment he catches sight of Clint. Darcy can't control her face, Clint's grin and joy is contagious. He's knocked over by the dog, lets himself fall to the ground to get licked and pawed at, and losing any sense of dignity he may have possessed.

“Hey you mutt, don’t walk out on me like that, I missed you.” Clint says to Lucky, holding the dog’s face in his hands and smoothing out the fur on his ears. It’s easily the most heartwarming thing Darcy’s seen in months, and she has a weakness for dogs herself. She stands close to Clint, and kneels over to pet Lucky’s back. “He’s a good dog.” Clint says bright and cheerful, “Absconded with by a dreadful girl, though.”

Kate snorts, “You weren’t in any condition to take care of him, I’m sure you can handle the responsibility of a dog now. After all, you’ve got trainees to teach.”

There are three of them, and Clint greets them by name, probably for Darcy’s benefit and not because he has some long association with them. And after a week of pretending she’s not paying attention to the agents, Darcy has formed her opinions. Sofie Mendoza is practically a tank, and almost certainly came to SHIELD for her valuable hit points or something, because while she’s not a intellectual slacker, she’d be out of place in most labs.

No, the lab person is Perry Lankshire, who looks like he’s continually surprised at being hired by an elite government organization. He’s brilliant, strong, and endlessly opinionated about weaponry. He’d be a perfect field agent if it weren’t for one thing.

“Sorry, I fell,” Darcy’s been watching Clint and Perry go through one on one training sessions in the home gym. Perry winces as he gingerly touches his wrist. It’s going to have a hell of a bruise by morning.

“Yes, I noticed that,” Clint rubs his face and pinches his nose, “New plan, we go back to basics. You get the lesson plan on how to fall without breaking anything.”

It’s Candice that has an actual grip on what it would have meant to be a SHIELD agent. She’s smart, but it doesn’t get in the way of being a functional human being, and she’s progressing at an average pace with the physical side of training, not bad for someone who’d never had combat experience. She just seems a little too normal for her own good. Darcy always fears the normal ones. Ian was normal, and look where that got her.

Darcy tries to help out, tries to see the pattern and reasoning behind Clint's training choices, Kate's schedule, and the trio of agent’s needs. Kate is easy enough to work with, despite her quite frankly bizarre working hours, but she glares at Clint over the lid of her laptop when he tries to ask her what she thinks of the group.

“I’m busy, Clint. I’m working.” Kate says, holding up a hand. Every time Clint starts a sentence, she taps her fingers together and makes a buzzing noise, until he finally gets fed up and asks (yells) what the hell her job is.

“I’m a private investigator, of course.”

“You are like eight - you are not a private eye. You are a snoop.” Clint says, pulling her laptop around, “Are you even trying to cover your tracks when you go creeping around online?”

“Clint, do you want me to help you set up an autonomous coterie of ex-SHIELD agents, or would you prefer that I stay out of your way?” Kate smirks and Clint bats his hand at her before turning on his heel and out of the room, “Okay. He’s moody. I’m not good at the stuff he needs, my friends and I run into problems more than we create solutions. It’s why we are on a break right now. I don’t know what he expects me to do when I’m not any good at it either.”

“That why you are a hero for hire right now?” Darcy asks gently, her eyes darting down to Kate’s laptop, “I’ve seen your fliers, I know how you’re operating.”

Kate bites her lip, “I can’t teach others until I can do it myself. Think things through, handle things myself.”

“Got the guts but not the patience?”

“That might just be the Hawkeye family motto.”

Clint’s up at all hours. Darcy catches him from time to time, because she’s not exactly sleeping on a normal schedule, spread out on one of the couches that’s built more for appearances than comfort, flipping through printouts of files, and looking through a calendar. She sits on the floor, takes a file from him, and starts reading what appears to be nonesense

“I never was a trainer,” he says when Darcy goes to pick up the next file, on Sofie. They are the training files, incomplete and disjointed, as if the original was scrambled when Natasha dumped everything online, “I know that they wrote in a code, because they felt that the weaknesses of an early agent should be known to as few as possible. I’m having to break it to figure out what they still need before we can let them to work on their own.” His stomach lets out a gurgle, churning nothingness loudly.

“When did you eat last?” Darcy asks, dropping her head back absently next to his stomach. Clint says that he thinks he had a late breakfast, and when she checks her phone, it’s late into the night. “Stay here,” she says, getting up with all the grace that two in the morning allows. She feels the drag of his fingers through her hair and, when she looks back, Clint’s features are softened by a still and tired smile that barely reaches his eyes.

“You don’t have to make me anything,” He objects without conviction. He says it with the same intensity that Jane had, after that first week when Darcy realized that Jane was living off of a box of cereal she kept in a desk drawer, and Darcy resigns herself to the fact that she has a weakness. Taking care of grown-ass adults is a weakness.

It's true. Darcy doesn't have to do anything while she's here. But that's fundamentally against her nature. She straightens papers left on desks, always has, since she was a little kid. She makes the little things right, smooths out the world for the heavy lifters. That's Darcy Lewis, that's who she is.

And she likes Clint, doesn't like seeing him with his dark circles almost to his cheekbones, and his lips thin and white from pressing them together. This isn't his thing, not this type of leadership. An established group he could take by storm, but three people still unsure of themselves, their capabilities, and with limited in resources and time? That would try the best of leaders.

Kate might end up being one of those leaders that deals best with inexperience, but at this moment she's got to figure out her own game first. She's come back after nights out with bruises and a black eye, and Clint just laughs at her and helps her clean up.

Darcy's not sure what kind of mentorship they really have going, because Clint's just as apt to make the same mistakes that Kate makes and she's prone to lecturing him on being an adult. Maybe they mentor each other, maybe they share some sort of Hawkeye hive mind.

Darcy's not jealous of that at all, and the attraction she feels towards Clint's just some sort of Stockholm syndrome. She pulls open the refrigerator door, and when she blinks away the worst of the sudden light in the dark room, her lips curls and her face scrunches up tight.

There's basically nothing. There's remnants of to-go containers, and something that may have been a container of cut-up fruit and some bagged lettuce. A quick look around the kitchen reveals that there isn't even an emergency stock of ramen. Darcy manages to slice up what’s left of a block of cheese for some crackers that she hopes aren't too stale.

Clint eats them without a second thought, not really registering what it is, only that it is calories, while Darcy looks for a laptop. A couple of keywords later, and she’s starting an order with a grocery service based on the food she has seen everyone eat and a tentative selection of meals. It’s a start - it’s easier to hunker down when you have just one delivery service coming to the door, and less of a security risk. Clint falls asleep between decoding one page and the next, and Darcy is careful not to wake him when she makes a grab for the files when he shifts and they fall off the couch.

Groceries are one thing, an easy thing that she can do to help, but its structure that the team really needs. She straightens the paper in the files into a neat tower and turns the stack over and over in her hands. Sometimes the heart of a problem isn’t inexperience, it isn’t a lack of skill or drive, it’s good old organization and logistics. It doesn’t matter how smart you are, how much natural talent you’ve nurtured over the years - it always comes down to your support structure and how talented they are.

Darcy’s betting her life on these people, they should be able to rely on someone.

She opens Sofie’s file again, and starts reading through Clint’s notes, and makes her own on a legal pad Clint had left on the coffee table. The sun begins to break through the windows when she finally falls asleep against the couch, her head resting on Clint’s outstretched arm, but there’s the rough draft of a daily training schedule in black ink to show for her effort.

When Darcy wakes up, she’s curled up by herself, holding her own hair in her hand and drooling a little bit on the couch cushion. She doesn’t see Clint, nor does she see the legal pad she was working on the night before. She drags her thumb over the underside of her hand, a nervous tic as she tries to figure out what to do next. “Ugh, maybe I just need a shower,” she groans, trying to will the sleepy haze from her brain. She pushes herself up from the cushions and starts walking towards her room where her shower is, where there is so much hot water she could live in it.

“Hey!” Kate bites into an apple. She must have slipped into the kitchen while Darcy was sleeping, “You make that schedule?” she says, mouth mostly full, “It’s good. Should work.”

Small words are about all the Darcy can comprehend right now, she really should have slept instead of staying up all night to, wait, her schedule? “Yeah, I did that.”

“Clint’s been passing it around, checking to see if it works for everyone. I think Sofie made a couple of changes cause she’s a princess who prefers to do her personal workout at a specific time, but everyone seems to like it.”

Darcy smiles, because if there’s one thing she enjoys, it’s instant gratification on her effort. “You guys are using it already?”

“I think Clint said officially tomorrow so we can get things into place, but yeah, we are.” Kate looks her up and down, “Wow you look terrible, did you pull a Barton?” At Darcy’s blank stare, Kate elaborates, “Sleep on the couch?”

“I think we both did.” Darcy answers. Kate continues to look at Darcy, a slow, bemused expression crossing her face until she takes another bite of her apple and continues on her way out of the kitchen.

It’s too early to figure out Kate’s body language and parse exactly what she means when she isn’t saying anything at all.

“Shit, were you about to hit the shower?” Clint and Lucky barrel in, Lucky still leashed from a hard run and panting furiously, “You mind if I snag it first? I’m drenched and the water pressure isn’t that good when both showers are running.”

Drenched is a good word for Clint right now. He bends over to detached Lucky’s leash, and while the dog heads towards Darcy for some affection and love on his way to the water bowl, Darcy’s attention is fixed. Clint uses his t-shirt to wipe at his face, revealing his stomach. Oh it’s a nice stomach, slick and flat. He’s well muscled, that much is obvious even with a shirt on, but he’s more solid than a bodybuilder, a body type she’s long preferred.

“Uh sure,” she replies slowly, mentally shaking out her head and blinking furiously, because hell, that’s a picture that’s going to stay with her. Clint’s hair is standing mostly on end and messed up, and he’s red in the face from running but it only adds to his appeal.

“Hey, the schedule? I don’t know what to say Darcy - that was real good of you. I’m glad you are here with me, I don’t think I could have slid everything into order nearly as well. I’m not good with order.”

“Not with that hair,” Darcy says because she’s an idiot who can’t stop looking at him.

Clint runs his hands through his hair, but it doesn’t help, and all it means is that Darcy can see a sliver of skin again, “My hair is perfectly fine. When some mutt doesn’t want me to roll around in the grass with him.” He’s got to walk past her on his way to his room and his shower, and he clasps her shoulder as he passes, “But I’m glad you can bring order to my chaos.”

Things start falling into place. It’s not easy, there’s some moving around of things on the schedule, which is fine — Darcy adapts pretty well on the fly- but when everyone is able to eat three meals a day things just work better. Clint can focus on the physical training and what it means to be a field agent in the days of an open HYDRA, a disjointed SHIELD, and alongside the Avengers.

It works, the agents start acting like agents, rather than panicked kids, and Clint starts giving them intel to analyze. “Because it sure as hell isn’t my strong point,” Clint admits, sitting across from Darcy the far-too-ornate kitchen table. “Not when its raw like this. I need things mapped out first and then I can make connections.” He tilts his head, looking at Darcy and then at the day’s schedule on the table, “You want something to do?”

Darcy drops her head into her hands, her eyes peeking out to watch Clint go all bug-eyed at the idea that she might not want what really amounted to homework. “Please,” Darcy says, because sorting out raw data into easily understood chunks? That was her job before Ian, and she was good at it.

Clint relaxes, “These guys are looking through the activity of a HYDRA cell based in LA, but from what I’m seeing, there’s too much going on for just one small group. I think a second group has moved in.” He stands up from the table and brushes by Darcy, and she doesn't think she imagined his hand reaching out to touch her shoulder as he walks to the kitchen island and the tablet he left there before making his sandwich. He fiddles with it and Darcy watches his fingers, the knobby joints and long digits as they move around the screen. She’s felt those fingers in her hair, and in brief contact on her skin. Darcy wants more, but doesn’t know how to sort out if Clint is as interested as she is, even when he’s the one making contact.

Men make contact all the time, it doesn’t mean they like you. It means they like the idea of touching you. Still, she bites her lips, not able to look away until he starts walking back, engrossed in the information on the screen. He sets the tablet down in front of her, his hand behind her, resting on the top rail of a chair and gripping the rim before crouching over.

“Here’s why I want you to look at it though, because it’s ringing familiar.”

Lucky wanders into the room and then makes a beeline towards Clint, butting him in the thigh, demanding to be petted. Clint drops to his knees while Darcy reads and starts making playful overtures with Lucky, play fighting that goes on and on. Darcy’s a quarter of the way through the first file when her eyes dart over to the two of them, Clint lying on his back with his shirt riding up, trying to fend off Lucky’s licks and paws and nips while laughing. It’s adorable, and it’s hard to look away, to just read intercepted communications from someone that sounds so much like Ian when he tried to help Darcy write a grant.

Darcy’s eyes widen and she fumbles with the tablet, not quite dropping it, but it slips in her fingers before she catches it in the crook of her palm and swears at it.

Clint looks up from the floor, “That didn’t take long.”

“It sounds familiar because it’s Ian. I’m pretty familiar with how he talks and writes. Apparently, that’s something that doesn’t go away when you are undercover as a somewhat bumbling grad student. Okay, give me a few minutes here to take a quick read through”

Clint lays there, leaving Lucky to pace around him before settling in and baring his belly, and he idly scratches the dog as Darcy works. The tablet is nice, but what she wants is to scribble and draw out the supply train and ebb and flow of the intelligence that’s been gathered. There are gaps. She can’t quite figure out where Ian’s group is, but she can tell that they are not in HYDRA’s good graces. A tension runs through each communication intensifying as they progress .

“Paper?” she asks, “And a pen?”

Clint stretches and rocks on his back for leverage, standing in a fluid motion. He opens drawer after drawer, mumbling about how a paperless society only exists when you want paper until he finally finds what Darcy needs and slides it in front of her.

“Okay, let’s map this out.” Darcy says to herself, but Clint takes it as an order and pulls up a chair to sit beside her. She turns the legal pad horizontally and labels the corner with KISS THEM AND LEAVE THEM, with three strokes underlining the phrase. Bottom right corner she writes “mid-level target; failure” and then begins to weave in the connections. HYDRA tells Ian he fucked up, Ian requesting, “A re-evaluation of mission parameters” and cell movement that’s rapidly moved westward since they arrived. Acquisitions. There’s a wealth of information, and Darcy’s always been good at sorting out the shit from the useful, even when she doesn’t know what it all means.

When she’s done, when the contents of her brain have finished emptying themselves onto the legal pad, she pushes it towards Clint. As he reads her findings, he fiddles with a pen he picked up for himself, threading it through his fingers, but his focus remains intent on the page. This is a new type of analysis for her - taking Jane’s work down and such was at least something she could understand the basics of - but this? The longer Clint stares the more Darcy starts to squirm and shift on her chair.

“Does it make sense?” She asks after a few minutes, unable to take the scrutiny in her own mind. Did she do it right? Does her brain still know how to draw connections like the ones she made in class or has science rotted her mind like candy?

“This is…” Clint trails off making a note in the margin. Darcy lays a hand on his shoulder to bring his attention back to her question, “This is very good Darcy. I can work with this.” He reaches up to his shoulder to cover her hand with hers, “I’m not sure what I expected you to be able to do, but it wasn’t this. I need to get …Candice, I think she could do some real good work with this.”

His hand is big, completely covers her own easily, warm. As he tangles up her fingers in his there is a shift in how they perceive the space between them. They both lean in until they can feel static and crackle. It’s too much and it’s only relieved when there’s nothing left between their lips. Clint drops the pen, and it falls to the floor. She’s at the edge of her seat, at the edge of standing, at the edge of moving her body beyond her lips, her tongue and her jaw.

Clint’s no better, with his free hand tracing down her body as she moves forward until it is comfortably gripping her around her ribs. And then he is pulling her up, up with him, out of her chair and onto the table. It’s like she’s taking the air from his lips. Some small party of Darcy thinks about how good this feels, how right and how long was she going to wait before she took some damn initiative.

“Oh god does well-thought-out intelligence get you hot,” she says when she breaks away to catch her breath, to get her own air.

“Apparently, or maybe it’s just the person it’s coming from.” Clint says, his fingers on her cheeks and drumming down her neck. He’s settled between her legs and oh shit, they are at the fucking kitchen table, and there are four other people who live in this house and could come in at any moment and Lucky is watching them with lazy interest.

Darcy starts laughing and Clint looks affronted until she points at Lucky, “Okay, okay, yeah. Lucky scram.” Lucky doesn’t move, “Come on, let me get a little action here and then I will go take you for a walk around the property, I swear.” Darcy continues to laugh as Clint tries to reason with his dog, who pants judgmentally before standing up to circle around himself and whines. “Seriously? I named you the wrong thing, you are not Lucky, you are keeping me from —“

“Don’t finish that statement because I want to keep ‘getting lucky’ as a phrase in my vocabulary” Darcy’s voice wavers with laughter. “Go take him out. We can revisit this later, cowboy.”

“Yes ma’am.” Clint tips an imaginary hat before leaning in for another heated kiss. He lingers more than he ought until Lucky’s whining gets more frantic and Clint lets her go to go take care of the mutt.

 

Darcy discovers something interesting about the junior agents. Even though nothing that they are doing is anywhere near their specialties, nobody is a slacker when it comes to taking the information that Darcy sorted through and taking the analysis to farther and more concrete conclusions. The trio runs this show, Candice and Perry discovering a small time gunrunner that slips some very interesting and hush hush items towards a location suspected to be within a HYDRA hot spot.

"We always knew that this area was hiding something. But whenever we got close, even sending in some specialized assets, our intel would just fall apart. If it's HYDRA, then there's a damn good reason for that," Clint explains as Sofie stabs a pushpin into a cork board. It's low-tech, but it works. It also bears a strange resemblance to the photo collages that Darcy created in her dorm room. All it needs is some led rope lights and movie tickets, and she could fall asleep under it happily

The neighborhood they are looking at is practically spitting distance from their hideout. The proximity makes Darcy nervous. Every intercepted communication has venom dripping from it. Towards SHIELD, towards Jane, occasionally towards her (mostly concerning her cockroach-like ability to stay alive, so Darcy's pretty proud about that one. If she were the sort to scrapbook, it'd be an entire page.) but sometimes it's towards HYDRA itself.

"They can't always be ultra-fanatical," Sofie says, "But it doesn't mean that they are secretly still good people.”

“He sure does come close to being a one hundred percent evil sort of dude though,” Perry looks up from a laptop. He’s been putting together Ian’s work from before London to get a sense of how he operates. “Because he pulled the same infiltrate, befriend and destroy maneuver before, last time on a set of scientists in Germany.”

“He speaks German?” Darcy says, because they could have used that. Darcy spent an entire weeks tracking down a translation of a paper for Jane and if Ian could have done it it would have made her whole life easier. She rolls her eyes at herself, now is not the time to be thinking of how underutilized Ian was.

“In their case, one of the scientists came to work for SHIELD after a tragic accident. Our boy was a shining star for a moment, pulling that off.” Perry continues, barely acknowledging Darcy. “Internal documents suggest he was given research work to do until after the Chitauri attack, and HYDRA noticed that Doctor Foster was vulnerable.”

“All well and good, but what is he doing now?” Kate asks, arms folded and leaning against the doorframe. She hasn’t spent a great deal of time here, it’s not her turf (Darcy’s not sure what Kate thinks her turf is, since she just spent a week with a fancy camera taking pictures of someone who was stealing dogs from backyards).

“You study the past to look for patterns, Bishop,” Clint tugs at her hair, “Secret agent 101.”

“Yeah, but he’s not doing that right now. He’s moved from a favored spot to ‘you couldn’t even off one lousy intern?’ He’s not going to follow his patterns. He’s going to be desperately trying to find something that works.”

Candice looks at Kate, her lip curling in overblown disgust, “You might have a point. He’s got a lot of firepower coming at him, but it flows through, he’s not massing up for a single attack.”

“No, he’s getting money. Is HYDRA not funding him?” Perry says, and the trio scoots their chairs together, as if they needed to share a single brain. It’s scary whenever smart people, and they are smart people, just green, do that. It means something immense is going to happen.

It also means that Darcy is cut out of the conversation, as is Kate and as well as Clint. Darcy tries to tell herself that it doesn’t mean anything, it’s not her area of expertise. That’s all. What she’s done allows them to work and plan, come up with the next steps. But it doesn’t mean that she likes it. She never has.

That was the worst thing about Ian, before they found out he was a secret Nazi - her place with Jane and Erik changed. She wasn’t the best with what they did, but she pulled her weight from time to time, and being pushed to the edges to only do administrative work made her angry and made her keep quiet about it. Because she could be replaced now. She was the useless target, only targeted to die.

“Sometimes it’s tough to be the action guy,” Clint says, coming up to lay an arm around Darcy’s shoulders and draw her back to where he and Kate were standing. “You’ve got to wait for the analysts to do their work, and they have to wait for admin to do theirs. We build on each other and while most of us can dabble in the work of the other areas, we really only do it out of necessity. I can only do my work because of what they are doing, and they can only do their work because of what you did. My missions are five minutes compared to the hours and days of sweat and brainpower.” His hand drums on her shoulder, reminding her that he’s there, “It’s tough to watch them work, so let’s not.” Clint guides her and Kate out of the room.

“Yeah, but you are also action guy, and so are you, Kate,” Darcy mutters, “You are the output of all of this. Jane was the output of all my hard work, and you guys get to be visible and —“

“And Jane and Erik wouldn’t be safe if it weren’t for you,” Clint states stubbornly, and Darcy can out stubborn him for sure, but his tone stops her short, “You do important work wherever you go, and you do it more out of goodness of your heart rather than for a paycheck or out of obligation. That’s special Darce. You aren’t a hanger-on, even if you aren’t always in the thick of things, you are part and parcel of a team.”

Kate looks thoughtful, “Maybe that’s what we’re missing.”

“Hawkeye, what your group is missing is about a decade of common sense,” Clint groans, “Come on you two, let’s let the geeks work, and beat up each other for a little bit. Darce, you can use some work on falling without killing yourself.”

* * *

It’s not like she’s old or anything, but since starting college, Darcy had learned there are certain truths in life. Her father is always going to be a little bit mad at her. Her mother is never going to quite understand why Jane Foster was more important than a salary. You can plan all you want, but you don’t always get to implement those plans.

The plan was to trap Ian in one of his the places where they thought he was holing up. He tended to stay in hotels, and the rest of his team came and went. Find where he was at, scope it out, pick him up whenever there was the least number of (other) minions. Simple, easy. Darcy could call up Asgard by yelling loudly and Jane could come back, and everything would be normal.

Nothing has been simple, easy, or normal about her life since they mowed down Thor in a pinzgauer. Ian and his friends find them in a fast casual noodle joint. Kate’s chilling on her phone at a table while Darcy and Clint argue about the best combinations from the Freestyle Coke machine. Darcy sticks with fruity combinations, Clint tries to put everything in one cup because he’s still seven years old.

“Just don’t put root beer in it,” Darcy looks over at Kate to make sure she isn’t watching, and leans up to kiss Clint’s cheek, “It overpowers everything.” Clint doesn’t listen to her, and puts the Barq’s in his horrible looking mixture anyways. He doesn’t get the chance to drink it, Darcy ducks her head and grimaces as he moves to drink it and where her head was, a bullet pierces the pop machine.

Clint pushes her down, pulls out a sidearm and Darcy is so not a gun person, so not a gun person. She does not know what type he carries when he can’t carry a quiver easily, while Kate yells about snipers hating on Cherry Sprite.

Kate knocks down a few tables, "Thank goodness we didn't just get McDonald's. They nail down their shit," she mutters. Once she's behind her makeshift blind, she grabs the backpack she’s been lugging around, opens it and starts assembling a take-down bow. The bag itself is full of arrows. From what Darcy can tell, nothing cool, just clean, efficient and sharp.

The bullets keep coming, laying down cover as several -- no six —fully armored and armed men and women come through the door and break down the windows, joining the man who initially started firing. "Well, at least HYDRA understands that women can handle combat." Darcy says, her voice trembling through her sarcasm.

"Babe, can you cram yourself between the coke machine and the condiment table?" Clint says as if there were just a really high stakes game of hide and seek. Or that she can fit into the space that a straw gets stuck in isn't a laughable feat when someone is shooting at her.

She manages, her knees pressing into her chest and her head tucked low, but turned so she can watch. And Clint's aim is as good with a gun as it is with a bow, there's just no flair, and two of the lesser armored men go down amid the shrieks and panic of the patrons. One victim to a bullet, another one to an arrow.

Kate’s ghostly pale, but she keeps her gaze steady and her hands don’t shake. Darcy’s watched her train with Clint, matching his shots with a startling accuracy, but this is entirely different. She’s focused and aware — and looks aware of just how screwed they are. Outnumbered, outgunned and surrounded by civilians in a public place. On the other hand, they’ve forced Ian into meeting them in public in a loud way. Darcy can already hear sirens, can see a scared woman underneath the large corner booth on her phone, the cashier behind the counter taking video with his phone.

There’s still fighting going on, but it’s much less of a rain of bullets, and more sporadic spurts.

“I think they are running out of ammo,” Clint says, perplexed, “Didn’t they bring enough?”

“Maybe they thought this would be an easy smash and grab?” Darcy bites off, because they probably thought they’d only need the one bullet. Darcy has had enough, “What, did you get stuck with the HYDRA interns Ian?” she yells, still crouched and cramped. Taking enough breath to yell actually hurt. She closes her eyes, and when she opens them again, the scene has changed.

Clint has sprinted forward, fighting more with his fist and a knife than his gun. Kate stands up straight, on top of chairs to get a better angle as she tries to get clean, debilitating injuries rather than another dead body, and blood covers the floor. It doesn’t take much to make a real mess of things, and one of the HYDRA goons appears to have actually slipped on someone else’s blood. Darcy’s going to puke - this is not what she signed up for at all.

“I think you did,” Clint says after he’s put just one last person down, reached over and ripped off the last man standing’s helmet. “Hi Ian,” Clint says, picking Ian up by the vest.

Darcy crawls out from underneath the table, and watches as flashing lights from police cars outside change the color of the walls. Ian is sweating and he holds his face differently now, more cock-sure and less the goofy brilliant man she liked and and with whom she shared her valuable time.

“So I think you got caught with your pants down, huh? Couldn’t complete your mission, got the dregs of those willing to work with a disgraced agent to try to even complete a third of your objectives. They aren’t very good are they?” Clint says, “It’s pretty lucky that my guys put me on protecting Darcy, cause other guys ain’t so chatty with their detail. She told me all about you, and your lack of attention to your movements made finding you a breeze.”

Darcy continues to crawl, doesn’t get why Clint is monologuing like a movie villain, and not even a good one, until she sees his face. It’s messed up and his hearing aid, the behind the ear ones he wore when he wasn’t feeling up to an in-ear one or just going without, is laying on the ground out of reach. He’s buying time, talking to Ian so that Darcy and Kate can, what, get the police inside? Get people out? She needs context clues.

“You’re an idiot,” Clint continues, “A failure. Desperate enough to shoot up a damn restaurant filled with people, just to try to kill one girl.”

That’s her cue and she crawls over to Kate, “Can you make sure I can get to the back exit?” It’s not like all the men are dead, they might get back up, “And watch his back too?” Kate nods with a thoughtful scowl.

Ian starts to talk back, and Clint shouts, too loud, telling him to shut up. That’s one way to deal with not being able to hear the guy. Ian is pretty well covered by fabric tied around his face. Hell of a time, but Clint’s a professional and Darcy gets to her feet in a ducked down run to the nearest set of people, a couple hipster teenagers. “Cops are outside, let’s get out of here, alright?”

“Is that Hawkeye?” one of the kids asks, his jaw shaking out the words.

“Yeah, they are,” Darcy’s not about to explain how they are watching a double feature, “Get a move on.” Darcy basically has to repeat the process anytime she has to stop to convince someone to move, that it’s far safer to be outside where the fresh air and helpful police officer are rather than in the aftermath of a powder keg.

Darcy’s gotten the last person out when the first Hydra guy stumbles back up and pulls Clint off of Ian, Kate’s arrow missing him by a hair’s breath. She curses, but it’s enough time that Clint’s in an all-out brawl with Ian and the goon with the best recovery time. His hearing aid has been stepped on and crushed under combat boots.

Darcy has got two options. She can run out the back door and blend in with the rest of the bystanders. Where there’s no one particularly invested in her personal safety — say what you will about HYDRA, but if you aren’t in their way, ordinary people aren’t their concern. If she stays here, she’s in the line of fire.

Darcy has never been particularly bright, and makes her way back, first to Kate’s side, where she can see the cashier behind the counter curled up tight, watching the entire fight through his cell phone camera with shock and terror coming out of every pore. Yeah, being frozen in fear and directly in harms way is a feeling Darcy knows all too well.

She spares a few seconds to watch Clint. He’s an efficient brawler, even when he’s a little disoriented, and Ian takes advantage, able to move away from the fight. Darcy can tell when Ian sees the cashier, and his nostrils flair in distaste. “Fucking cameras,” he spits out, “Can’t have that.” 

“Kate, help Clint.” Darcy says before her brain can think things through.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve been trying.” Kate rolls her eyes, “I don’t want to hit him by mistake. He hates that.” But she breathes in and out and steadies herself, taking a look at her limited amount of arrows, “This needs to end very soon, or I’m going to have to involved in the fisticuffs and my face just recovered from the last time.”

Darcy nods, and on her way, grabs plate after discarded plate as she goes, see’s Clint’s jaw going tight when he catches a glimpse of her moving directly towards them. She never would have thought of Ian as being a match for Clint, but the armor appears to be absorbing the bulk of a great deal of force. HYDRA did have access to all sorts of research and development, and Ian seems to have found a good piece for himself.

She makes for the cashier, telling him to run, to get out of there, but he steadfastly remains in place. From fear or from wanting a good video, she doesn’t know, but fear is her best guess. She can make this better though, even the odds - three on one is pretty decent, right?

Darcy throws the first plate, straight against the wall without a hint of finesse, then the second and third. It catches Ian’s attention briefly, but it’s long enough for Clint’s fist to impact his face and knock him down.

“Hail fucking Hydra,” Clint says.

“You get that? Stop the recording, you got your smooth ass hero line.” Darcy says to the cashier, before catching her breath and catching herself on the counter. Things slow down for her- Kate goes to fetch the police and let them know they are free to come handcuff these guys, Clint stands and breathes, dividing his attention between Kate and Darcy and Ian and the goons.

He reaches down and picks up his broken hearing aid, “Aww, not again.”

* * *

“Is it normal for everything to hurt like this?” Darcy asks, picking up discarded clothes and stuffing them back into her bag. Leaving isn’t really sweet sorrow. She’d rather be getting back to her work, and she’s going to have more of it now. During Jane’s awesome adventure in Asgard, Thor had gently persuaded her to make New York more a permanent home than a mere way station. Thor’s gotta have balls of steel to get Jane to give up what she termed her freedom, but Darcy’s pretty sure that Jane will win out in the end.

She can practically hear Jane’s voice proclaiming that she no longer needs to draw upon rapidly depleting government funding, as if Jane has written a grant proposal in the last three years. Darcy hasn’t even seen her yet and already knows girl is going to need an attitude adjustment. And a wrench, because more money means that Jane is going to overhaul her equipment. Stark won’t mind.

“Note to self, figure out a way to keep Stark out of our lab,” she mutters, and a hand touches her shoulder.

“What did you say, look at me please?” Clint’s just waking up and he puts off putting in his aids as long as possible, but he also doesn’t like missing a single word she says, no more than he likes that she’s heading back to New York without him (but in Kate’s company, which promises to be enlightening) while he finishes up the expansion of former SHIELD agents in LA. The trio is promising, but they can do more, and more people keep coming out of the woodwork, as if someone is out there telling them it’s safe. There’s someone to take care of them. Even if that person is Hawkeye, there’s someone to take care of them.

Darcy settles onto the bed, holding Clint’s hands and enjoying their warmth, and makes sure he’s got light enough to see, “I’m not letting Stark into Jane’s new lab.”

Clint laughs, “That is a smart idea. But before that.”

“Does it always hurt this much?” She asks, and Clint sits up and holds up a finger in the universal gesture for just a minute before bending over, twisting until he has his aids in. On the list of things Darcy is not going to admit to him, it’s kinda weird to watch him stick things into his ears.

“It’s been weeks since… if you hurt somewhere, you should get that looked at.” Clint says, “And before you say anything, yes I am being hypocritical and don’t tell Tasha that.”

And it has been a couple of weeks since Ian went down, taken away first by the cops and then by some very nice government agents from one of the alphabet gang. But on the other hand, it’s only been a couple of weeks since she was involved in a shootout and watched Clint and Kate engage in a large amount of violence to protect her. It’s not exactly a long time. “I’m fine, Clint. It’s just, more in my head. When do I stop hurting there?”

“It doesn’t stop, not really. If you are like me, you learn how to, I don’t know if I’m getting this right, compartmentalize? So that I can keep going on with my job. You —I don’t know how it’s going to work out.” Honesty is one thing she values from Clint, that he’s not going to sugarcoat and lie and tell her that it’s going to get easy soon. “But you will figure out what works for you, and if you can’t do that on your own, you’ll have plenty of people in New York who have a lot more experience at getting their life figured out than I do.” He pauses and his grin turns bright and flirty and beautiful with suppressed laughter, and Darcy likes this part of him too, his ability to lighten the load on the edge of a dime,”And me. You’ll still have me. In spirit, because I’m going to die here in California without you. Was that part of your secret plan? To get me dependent on your organizational abilities and then leave me?”

Darcy brings her finger to her mouth, and moves her way closer to Clint, ducking her head in a cheap flirty gimmick, but it’s a gimmick that works so well on him, “Shh,” she says, looking out from between her eyelashes and so soft that it’s mostly just a pointed breath, “You’ll ruin my plan.”

Clint grabs her, knocking her bag onto the floor, and pulls her on top of him, and she shrieks and laughs as he tells her that he has a very good way of ruining plans, and before she really knows it, his hands are on the buttons of jeans and she’s stripped her shirt and things are coming along quite nicely.

Kate really needs to learn how to knock or Darcy really needs to learn how time slips away when there is nakedness involved, because she gets a real good look at Clint’s very nice backside when she walks into the room as if she owned it, “Darcy are you about ready or do we need to tell the jet that…” Kate stops mid-stride, words dying in her slack-jawed mouth.

Darcy can’t help watching Kate put herself back together, her mouth closing and flipping her hair, “Oh god Barton, put that away, no one needs to see your dick.” She turns on her heel, “I’ll call the jet and tell them we’re running late.”

Kate slams the door on her way out.

“So, I’m pretty sure that if I had gone to law school like my dad wanted, this never would have happened and I never would know what true embarrassment feels like.” Darcy wants to melt into the pillows and she can feel how pink her face is by now.

Clint kisses her quickly, strokes her cheek, “Worth it.”

And okay yes, it really is worth it. Her parents may never get why she likes what she does. They’ll never get how looking after Jane and an increasingly larger number of people is satisfying to her. How the constant threat she’s under is both terrifying and something she’d miss if it were gone. They’ll probably balk when it’s time to introduce Clint to them. But hopefully they’ll see that their little girl is happy.

And hopefully they’ll never see how she’s pink all the way down to her toes.


End file.
